by Колин Глисон
Something snapped inside him, something widening into cold, then hot…and then deep, deep calm. An oasis, an island, in the fiery, terrible vortex of the fear and horror that battled within him, and without.
He could do it. He could save Maia.
“I take it back,” he shouted into the darkness, his voice rusty and barely audible. Tears streamed from his eyes as he made the decision. “Lucifer! Attend me!”
The flames roared and curled, heat surging in incessant waves. It was getting close. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to breathe. It was a miracle they hadn’t already been engulfed, for the fire seemed to lick and devour, but its speed had slowed. Something seemed to keep it at bay.
“Lucifer!” he bellowed again.
And then there he was, the Fiend, the devil, there in his mind. “You have the temerity to call me back after breaking our contract?”
“You asked me once if I loved Meg enough to save her,” he said…or, more likely, thought, for this was a dream just as the other had been. “I didn’t know, but now I understand. Once again, I give you my soul, but this time, I do not give you hers. You have me, but she is untouched. Do it now, you bastard. Do it now.”
Luce smiled that warm, tempting smile and his eyes narrowed. “It is always gratifying when the most God-fearing turn to me. I’ll have you back, Dimitri. I’ll have you back.” He stretched out his hand to replace his Mark, and searing pain, a shock of white light, blazed in the darkness. Dimitri caught a glimpse of Wayren and thought, Too late…
And then he was falling.
22
Our Heroes In Darkness
Maia felt rather than saw the flash of white light from behind closed eyes, and heard a loud crashing splinter. Corvindale’s arms were around her, and suddenly they were falling, tumbling into nothing.
They landed on hard, cold ground with hardly a jolt. Coughing, wiping her gritty eyes, Maia struggled out of Corvindale’s grip and realized she could breathe.
It took her only a moment to ascertain that they’d fallen through the floor of the burning building, and were now in some sort of cellar. The fire raged above them, and would soon burn through the rest of the floor, but for now they were safe from smoke and flame. It didn’t surprise her that a strong stench of refuse was mixed with smoke and burning wood, and she suspected that there was a cesspool close by, for that was the purpose of cellars such as this. But perhaps, pray God, there was also a way out. Even if it were through the waste.
Regardless, they were out of the fire. Miraculously, safely. At least, for now.
Except that Corvindale wasn’t moving.
Maia crawled up next to him, tugging at his soot-streaked arm and touching his sweaty, filthy face. The light was dim, but the fire cast a yellow glow from above and when his eyes fluttered and his head moved, she could have cried with relief.
“Corvindale,” she said, shaking him urgently. “We have to get out of here.”
He groaned and she saw in the dim light that he’d opened his eyes. “Maia,” he murmured in a smoke-roughened voice. “I’m sorry.”
“Apologies later,” she said, wincing as an ominous rumble sounded above. Something fell from the wooden slats that formed their ceiling, landing nearby and making the hole above larger. “We have to find a way out of here. Now.”
“Safe,” he said, struggling to his feet, his eyes never leaving her. “You’re safe. Thank God.”
He was too tall to stand upright in the small space, but, crouching, he gathered her up to him, touched a quick, tender kiss to her mouth, and then pulled her against him in a tight embrace. She felt the tremors in his arms and torso and breathed in the scent of his salty, sooty, masculine skin, burying her face in the coarse hairs of his chest.
After a moment, he released her and, still holding her arm, began to look around. But Maia had already noticed the way the tendrils of smoke seemed to be drawn toward a particular corner.
“There,” she told him, just as he pointed in the same direction and said, “This way.”
His hand steadying her, they picked their way, leaving the small glow of light and stepping into the dark. It was like ink, black everywhere, close and damp and small. Maia didn’t like it. Something furry scuttled near her foot, and once, she stepped on something that squished and moved, but she stifled the little shrieks that threatened and soldiered on, clutching Corvindale’s arm.
Her thoughts were spinning, filled with so much to comprehend and absorb that she couldn’t allow her mind to focus on anything except getting out. When they were safe, she’d sort it all out and be with the man she loved.
Who loved her, too.
That thought she couldn’t keep submerged, and a flowering warmth started through her limbs, strengthening her wobbly legs and aching body. She’d get out. Because Corvindale—Dimitri Gavril, the Earl of Corvindale—loved her.
At last, there was a shift in the air and the faintest buffet of cooler breeze. They were close. The impossible darkness eased into dark gray shapes that grew more and more defined as they went on.
A little splash told her they’d found water, and at first she was concerned it was one of the sewage channels. But there was no accompanying stench, and as it grew deeper, rising to her ankles, she realized it was a relatively clean stream running from the nearby wharf.
They slogged through water now nearly to her waist, drawn by the light, navigating blindly through the river along uneven rocks, slippery with algae. One of the rocks moved suddenly, scudding against another, and the uneven surface sent them slipping and plunging into the water, which was suddenly up to her shoulders.
Maia knew how to swim, and she didn’t regret the sudden dunking. When she came up, her hair dripping in her face, she felt cooler and cleaner. She ducked back under again, glad to rinse away the remains of blood and smoke, and the sensation of violating lips and fangs. Relief rushed through her when Corvindale emerged, as well, whipping his wet hair back with a sharp toss of his head.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, reaching for her hand as she found a stable rock or brick to stand on. The light was growing stronger by the moment. The sun must be rising above.
“It feels good,” she said, her voice still rusty from the smoke. “The water was refreshing.”
“That is one thing even I cannot argue with,” he replied, and his hands were on her shoulders as he looked down at her. “Maia, I’m sorry. For all of this.”
She was now able to see the water dripping from his brows and hair, and the odd set to his face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t understand it, didn’t understand why he looked so stricken. They’d escaped the fire, they were nearly free, he’d admitted his feelings for her and he certainly knew how she felt about him. Why did he look as if something terrible had occurred?
Beyond that, she was certain that something miraculous had happened there, during the fire. She knew that Voss had become mortal after some horrible incident involving Angelica, and part of her believed—and hoped—the same had just happened to Corvindale.
How else could he have approached her, as she sat wrapped in rubies?
Only moments before he came to her, she’d seen him, seizing and fighting what must have been unimaginable pain, screaming in tortured agony…and then collapsing on the ground in the midst of the fire. She’d seen a blast of darkness, a shock of light, a sort of searing, sizzling explosion as he lay there, unmoving.
She’d thought he was dead.
And then he’d awakened and come to her.
“Maia,” he said again, as if he couldn’t get enough of saying her name. “I love you. But I can’t…” He cut himself off, pulling her against his warm, wet body and covering her mouth with his. She met him eagerly, tasting cool, fresh water and feeling it dripping between them, seeping through their clothing as his heat flowed into her. Her hands planted on the sleek planes of his chest, sliding through the dark hair and over the tops of his shoulders.
His lips were
soft and needy, fitting to hers, nibbling and caressing with tenderness and an underlying desperation. The arrogance and confidence from previous kisses was gone…this felt like the apology he’d been trying to make. And a severing, a farewell.
It wasn’t him. This wasn’t the earl who took what he wanted on his own terms. Who begrudged every bit of softness.
“Corvindale,” she said, pulling away to look up at him. “Gavril. What is it?”
His face was damp, his eyes hooded. “Something happened in there, Maia. Something…terrible.” He glanced toward the light, which had become even stronger.
She could see the faint outline of a stone jutting out, and realized that the tunnel and the river turned just ahead, and that there was safety. Escape. And it was daylight. There would be no vampires waiting for them. She could find covering for Gavril…if she needed to.
He drew her to the edge of the underground stream where the water was only just to her knees and settled her on a stable rock. He stood next to her, water trailing in rivulets down his face, plopping steadily to the ground.
“I couldn’t get to you. She—Lerina—knew that, she knew I couldn’t, once I got through the fire. That’s something perhaps even you don’t know, Maia, my love,” he said, the hint of an affectionate smile curving his lips. But only for a moment, then it was gone and the harsh, stone-faced earl was back. “The Dracule are impervious to fire. So she knew I could find you…and then she knew I could do nothing when I came upon the rubies. She meant for me to watch you die. She knew it, even before I admitted it to myself, that I love you.”
“But you came to me,” she said, reaching to touch his cheek, certain. She remembered the calm presence that had wrapped itself around her during that entire event, once she awakened in the chair to see him struggling toward her. All will be well, had said a voice in her mind. The force seemed to swirl around the chamber, whisking in the air to keep the fire at bay, and the smoke from becoming too thick. It had been pale and golden and peaceful.
“You got past the rubies,” she said. “Something happened…I saw it. There was a flash of light, like an explosion, or a shock of lightning.”
A grimace tightened his face and he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, she saw that they were flat and dark. Empty. “I broke the covenant. I separated myself from Lucifer and became mortal.”
Joy rushed through her…then stopped. Why was he still stricken, upset? “Is that not what you’ve wanted? Is there something else?”
What if, by leaving Lucifer’s covenant, he had to do something else? Like…die? What if there was some sort of punishment?
“Yes, that’s what I wanted. Until I realized that I couldn’t… I couldn’t save you. I’d saved my soul, but I couldn’t save you. We were trapped in there, and the only way I could get you out was to become immortal again. To bind myself to him again.”
Maia’s breath stopped and her heart thudded. “You…” She couldn’t form the words, she could hardly comprehend it. “You went back to him…to save me?” Horror and shock had her clutching his shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscles there as she stared up at him, disbelieving. “No, no, you wouldn’t have done that…. You couldn’t have done that. You know what it meant.”
His face had become stone, his countenance devoid of emotion. “Maia. I had to. I couldn’t let you die.”
“We all die, Corvindale. We all die. How could you give up your soul for…me?”
He shrugged, his broad shoulders moving beneath her hands, his face placid. But his eyes were now well-illuminated by the sun streaming from around the bend in the tunnel, and she saw how they burned with emotion. “When one finds real love, one does anything to protect it.”
She was shaking her head, tears filling her eyes. The last bit of relief and joy had sagged away, now a heavy burden settled over her shoulders.
“And so,” he said, his voice flat and earlish once again, “I won’t be going out there with you.” He gestured toward the light.
“Corvindale,” she began, but he held up a hand to stop her.
“Please,” he said. “For once, please don’t argue with me, Maia.”
She nodded and then pulled him down for another kiss. Her fingers slid over his chest, up along the strong cords of his neck as he pushed her against the damp stone wall with his body. That sharp flutter of pleasure started in her belly and spread down, flushing out, but was tempered by sorrow.
Her fingers dug into his wet hair, sliding up along his neck and shoulders…and then she stopped. Pulled away, her heart pounding.
“Turn around,” she said, pushing at him. “Turn around, Corvindale.”
He frowned, his face darkening, but then it eased as he turned, one of his hands going up to touch the back of his shoulder.
“It’s gone,” she said, smoothing her hand over his back. “The marking is gone.”
“Impossible,” he said, his face stunned. “It can’t be. I gave myself…I called him back to me. He raised his hand to touch me—” Then he halted. “She stopped him.” He was looking into the distance, his eyes focused on something Maia couldn’t see. His breathing changed, roughened and hurried. “She wasn’t too late,” he whispered. “She stopped him.”
And then, for the first time Maia could ever remember, the Earl of Corvindale smiled.
Epilogue
Lenning’s Tannery Expands
Nearly a month later…
“I simply don’t understand how you can be so calm about it all,” Maia said, planting her hands on her hips. She was looking up at Corvindale, who’d become Gavril to her in both mind and heart. “They’re cutting holes in your house. Big holes.”
“Yes, indeed, they are, Miss Woodmore,” he replied. But now, when he called her by her formal name, there was a layer of intimacy, of verbal caressing over the syllables. “Blackmont Hall is so dark and dim, most particularly my study, that I want more windows. Larger ones.”
“But there is dust everywhere. And flies are coming in. And the noise!”
“I suppose we could have waited to have it done while we were on our honeymoon,” said the Earl of Corvindale, looking down at the future Lady Corvindale, “but I have lived in darkness for so long, I didn’t want to wait any longer. And God knows when your brother will return from Scotland to attend the festivities.”
Maia’s heart shifted as it always did when she realized just what he’d been through, and what he’d given for her. “Of course,” she said, blinking sharply at a sudden sting of tears.
“How foolish of me to complain.” What man could give more for the woman he loved?
She smiled and returned to the stack of books she’d been sifting through in hopes of organizing his bookshelves now that the room was being renovated. Perhaps her propensity for easy tears and sensitivity to dust and noise had to do with the fact that she’d just missed her monthly flux. And like everything else in her life, it was normally ordered and regular.
“Wait a moment,” Gavril said, curving his strong fingers around her arm and turning her back to face him. “Is there something wrong, Miss Woodmore?”
She looked back at him in surprise. “No, indeed. I couldn’t be happier. Truly.”
A little quirk touched the corners of his beautiful lips. “But you aren’t arguing with me. You’ve agreed with me. Are you quite certain nothing is wrong?”
Maia laughed. She pulled her arm away and patted him on the cheek. “I’m certain nothing is wrong.” She wasn’t going to tell him until she was certain. “But if you prefer that I argue with you, perhaps I ought to take you to task on this disaster.” She gestured to the pile of books that reached from her hip to her shoulder. “Did you realize you have five copies of the same volume of Shakespeare’s tragedies, but none of his comedies?”
He frowned and ran his elegant fingers over one of the spines. “But that was purposeful, my dear. I was in no mood to read the likes of Two Gentlemen from Verona or As You Like It for the last century.
”
“So instead you buried yourself with Hamlet and Macbeth.” She gave a little sniff, but a smile lingered around her mouth. Then, suddenly, she found her eyes getting a bit damp again. “It’s fortunate you weren’t following in the footsteps of poor, tragic Romeo & Juliet,” she said, looking at the dog-eared pages of that play.
“There never were two more foolish lovers,” he said arrogantly. “If they’d merely used a bit of sense, both of them would have been alive.”
“You weren’t so different, you know,” she said. “Selling your soul back again to the devil. Then where would we have been? You shackled to him after trying to rid yourself for over a century.”
He shrugged, his face settling into that flat, stubborn expression. “I did what I had to do to save you, Maia. I’d do it again, even if it hadn’t worked out as well as it has. And it has all worked out quite well, has it not?”
“I’m not quite clear on how it did, precisely, work out,” she said, the dratted tears hovering in the corners of her eyes again. He really was the most amazing, loving man.
But how had it happened? Was it because he’d known the hell and torture he was taking on again when he made the sacrifice for her, calling Lucifer back to him? Because he knew precisely what he was giving up this time? That had made the sacrifice all the more meaningful…giving up what he’d wanted more than anything in the world to take the burden back again. That must have been how Wayren had been able to stop him from making the covenant a second time.
She couldn’t know for certain, but it made sense, in its own strange way.
And Lerina was dead, thanks to Lord Eddersley, who’d taken it upon himself to skewer the horrible woman when he arrived on the scene. Alexander Bradington had scuttled off into the night like the snake he was—athough Maia hadn’t said that aloud, for surely Gavril would remind her that snakes didn’t scuttle. They slithered.
Nevertheless, he’d assured her that Alexander was long gone to the Continent, and probably beyond, where he was safe from Chas’s vengeful stake (at least for the time being) and Gavril’s own fury.
